Not My Type
by AJ Wesley
Summary: An old enemy returns with their sights set on Dean. And they know just how to get to him...
1. Chapter 1

Not My Type

By AJ Wesley

_This story first appeared in the fanzine Road Trip With My Brother 7_

"Dean, we're driving on fumes."

"It's fine, Sam. I told you, I am _not_ stopping for gas in New Jersey." He gripped the steering wheel with both hands in agitation.

Sam grinned. "Oh, I don't know. It's kinda fun to watch the attendant search for the gas tank for five minutes."

Dean's head canted. "There is that. But seriously, there's only," he squinted out the windshield at the mile marker that glowed briefly in the headlights, "six miles to the New York state line. She'll make it."

"Okay," Sam drawled, the _I warned you_ implied. But he knew Dean was right; he always was in all matters Impala. The rebuilt and improved Impala that had christened the road less than three weeks ago.

Sam stared out the window, trying not to think too much about the last few months, and about the Christmas lights that adorned the houses on the hills in the distance. He couldn't remember the last time he'd celebrated Christmas with his family.

Family. Just Dean now…

The back of a hand slapped his arm.

"Hey, Sam. New York State Thruway. We're not that far, you know. When we're finished this gig, we can head upstate and—"

"No," Sam said, cutting him off.

"Come on—"

"Dean, I haven't talked to Sarah in _months_."

"So?"

Sam sighed. "_Dean_. I can't just pop in and out of her life like that."

"Sure you can."

"It's not fair."

"Fair, shmair. I guarantee she'll throw herself into your arms with a great big smile when she sees you. Always works for me."

"Yeah, well, Mr. Girl-In-Every-Port. I'm not you."

Dean snorted. "Tell me about it. Sometimes it's hard to believe we're even related."

Sam gave his brother a withering look that was probably wasted in the darkness.

The lights of a small gas station/convenience store lit up the road ahead, and Sam waited for it…

Dean threw him a triumphant smile. "Told you she'd make it." He patted the dashboard lovingly. "That's my girl."

Sam grinned and shook his head.

Dean pulled up next to the pumps and killed the engine. "Fill her up, would you? I'm gonna hit the john. And then…" He looked past Sam into the store and smiled.

Sam followed his gaze and saw the blonde behind the counter. "Dean—" But Dean was out of the car and closing the door before Sam could say any more. "Don't be all night!" he hollered in his brother's wake.

Dean just waved.

Great.

Sam got out and stretched. His breath condensed in the cold air, but it felt good after being cooped up for most of the day. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a credit card—he didn't even look at the name on it—and slid it into the card reader. Once the tank was full, Sam replaced the nozzle and leaned against the passenger-side door. He could see Dean at the counter if he craned his neck enough. From his brother's posture, he knew it was going to be a while.

Sam sighed and hugged himself against the chill, debating getting back in the car.

"Please, help. Someone help me!"

Sam straightened, pushing off the car with his hips, his arms unfolding as tension tightened his muscles. His gaze darted about, searching for any signs of danger.

The source of the plea was a teenage girl who had darted around the side of the mini-mart to his right. She spotted him almost instantly and ran toward him. She looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Please, can you help me?"

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"It's my sister. I can't wake her up." She grabbed Sam's jacket, walking backward and pulling him with her. "She said she wasn't feeling well, so we pulled over, but…"

Sam didn't need any more urging; he bolted in the direction she pointed, just to the side of the building. The girl was close behind as he rounded the car and saw the body on the asphalt beside the open driver-side door. "Did you call 911?" he asked urgently.

"I-I don't have a cell," the girl said. "Is there a phone inside?"

Sam dug into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and tossed it to her. "Hit *-9-1-1," he told her as he knelt beside the unmoving figure. She was lying on her side, long, dark hair obscuring her face. He didn't want to move her, just in case, but his fingers sought out her wrist, checking for a pulse. Nothing. Damn.

He could hear the girl behind him on the phone, and felt a pang of sympathy. He had to do something. Necessity overriding caution, Sam pushed the sister onto her back, hoping CPR would at least hold her until the ambulance arrived.

Her hair slid back, and Sam gasped. He knew that face.

"Kate," he said on a breath.

The name was barely off his lips when her eyes opened and her fingers clamped around his throat. He brought his hands up, tried to loosen the grip, but she was too strong. He couldn't breathe.

"Well, well. Fancy meeting you here," Kate said as she sat up, her hold not slackening.

Sam gasped, desperate for air. His vision was beginning to darken, but he was still able to make out the figure that stepped up beside him, snapped his cell phone shut, and leaned in close to his ear.

"Thanks for your help."

And that was the last thing he heard before everything went dark.

~oooOOOooo~

Dean was on a roll. Not only had he scored a phone number, but his caffeine and snacks were on the house. The clerk was cute. _Really_ cute. He loved her dimples, and the way her cheeks tinged pink when he poured on the charm. Her nametag read "Crissy." Nice. Ah, if only they were staying. But they had a job to do.

As if on cue with his thoughts, a car horn sounded from the pumps. There was no mistaking its tone.

"That would be my rude brother," he explained.

"Your brother?" she asked with a sly grin. "Is he as good looking as you?"

"Nah." Dean made a face. "I'm much better looking."

Crissy giggled. Music to his ears. Unlike the blast of the horn that sounded again.

"Gotta go," he said long-sufferingly, pouring it on thick. "Thanks."

He grabbed the bag and backed toward the door. Crissy gave him a little wave, fingers only, her hand close to her face. _So_ cute. He winked at her as he pushed the door open with his foot, then turned and left Crissy behind.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Sammy," Dean called, loud enough for his brother to hear on the other side of the pumps.

No response. Dean stepped to the right, trying to see around the island.

"—the hell?" He could see now that the front passenger-side tire was flat. A few more steps, and his heart went double time. Sam wasn't in the car. Okay. Okay. Don't panic. Maybe he just went to the restroom.

The rear tire was flat, too. A quick inspection confirmed that all the tires were flat.

Dean opened the driver-side door and ducked in, checked for anything that might give him a clue as to his brother's whereabouts. Nothing. Not a thing out of place. Except his brother.

His breath coming in quick, shallow pants, Dean pulled his head from the car and bellowed, "Sam?!"

"Lose something?"

Dean felt a chill spread through his body. He was certain there had been no one around just a moment ago. And that voice…

He turned, saw her standing across the parking lot. Her hair was different, but there was no mistaking who she was. Boots, hip-hugging jeans with a studded belt, and midriff-baring cami—she would have been hot, if not for the whole undead thing. He'd met her before, up close and personal.

"Where is he?" Dean demanded, resisting the urge to call her every name in his colorful vocabulary.

She smiled. "Nice to see you again, too."

"Cut the crap," Dean said, closing the distance between them. "Where's Sam?"

"Ooo, tough guy," she cooed. Her eyes raked over him. "I like that." She took a step toward him as a car rolled up behind her.

Dean's eyes flicked to the car, but he couldn't see past the tinted side windows. His muscles corded with barely contained fury.

"You know," she continued, "due to circumstances beyond our control, we seem to be in need of a…protector for the brood. Not that we have much of one anymore, thanks to you, but that will change. I think you'd fit the bill rather nicely. What do you say?" She smiled again, more seductively this time. "The perks are great."

"No thanks, you're not my type," he shot back. "I don't do hand-me-downs."

Kate's chin lifted. Yeah, he'd hit a nerve, and she was trying her best to hide the fact that it angered her. He allowed a smirk to touch his lips.

She backed up the few steps needed to bring her to the car and took hold of the back door handle. "I can be _very_ persuasive…"

Dean moved closer.

Kate opened the back door.

No.

Dean could see Sam, wrists tied in front and a length of rope binding his arms to his sides, preventing him from removing the gag that was jammed into his mouth. And no matter how hard Sam tried to hide it, Dean could see the fear in his brother's eyes. A fear that wasn't just for himself. Dean lunged forward, but came to an abrupt stop when Kate drew her knife from its sheath.

"Ah-ah," Kate admonished, waggling the knife in a _tsking_ motion. She slid in beside her prize. "Consider my offer," she said, drawing the flat of the blade over Sam's cheek. "I'll call you sometime tomorrow." Dean barely caught the frantic shake of Sam's head before the door closed and the car sped onto the road, leaving behind the stench of burning rubber.

Without a thought, Dean took off after it, his legs pounding the pavement as fast as he could push them. They were playing with him, allowing him to get close, so close he could see them through the back window. Kate turned to look at him, her eyes flashing white from the glow of the streetlight. She toyed with Sam's hair. Then she turned around, and the driver floored the gas pedal. Within seconds, the car, and Sam, were well beyond reach.

His legs burning, Dean finally allowed himself to slow, then stop. He bent in half, his hands braced just above his knees as he gasped air into his starving lungs. He looked up and watched the tail lights disappear into the distance.

Sammy.

The walk back to the gas station was long and arduous. He hadn't realized how far he'd run. The Impala was in sight, just a little farther.

"Dean!"

Somehow he managed to focus, saw Crissy running toward him. She caught his arm, helped him the rest of the way.

"Dean, what happened? Are you all right?"

He nodded, unable to catch enough breath to speak. Crissy guided him to his car, and he leaned heavily on the trunk. All that firepower at his disposal, and he hadn't been able to do a damn thing.

"Where's your brother?" Crissy asked urgently, looking around.

"Took him," Dean managed before realizing what he was doing.

"Oh, my God," the girl said. "You stay right here. I'm going to call the police."

"No!" he responded too quickly. Then more calmly, he said, "Look, I'm a cop. A detective. I can handle this."

She seemed at a loss for words, then finally managed, "What can I do?"

"Just get back inside. I'm fine."

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and started back in, glancing over her shoulder at him as she went.

Dean nodded, headed back to the Impala, then stopped. He wasn't going anywhere yet. "Hey, Crissy," he called, turning back to her. "You got any Fix-a-Flat?"

"Yeah," she said, eager to help. She ran for the store.

Dean sighed, running a shaking hand through his sweat-damp hair. They'd talked about the inevitability of the vampire's return. Dad had said—

_Dad. _ Dean swallowed the lump in his throat.

Dad had said that once a vampire gets your scent, it won't give up. They'd discussed options and plans, but as time passed, the urgency waned. Not like they didn't have anything else to worry about.

But the plans were still there, and he knew what he had to do.

_I'll call you sometime tomorrow._

Tomorrow? God… He'd lost his father; he wasn't about to lose Sam, too.

"Here you go," came Crissy's breathless voice from behind.

Dean accepted the cans a little more harshly than he meant to, but he didn't apologize. He moved with purpose to the car.

_Hang on, Sammy. I'm coming._

~oooOOOooo~

Sam stumbled, nearly falling from the force of the shove. He wasn't sure exactly where he was, but it seemed to be an old bunker. The steady downhill slope told him they were underground. They'd stripped him of his jacket and hoodie, leaving only his t-shirt to fend off the cold dampness. It was dark, but his guides had no trouble finding their way at all, even without the benefit of flashlights.

Metal hinges squealed, too loud in the closed area. Another shove, and this time he did fall, hard. Sam bit down on the gag, unable to stop a growl born of anger and pain as he hit the hard-packed dirt. The ropes binding his arms were used to haul him backward until he came to a crashing stop, his back colliding with solid wall. The force practically knocked the breath from his lungs, but his protest lodged in his throat when the sound of a knife being drawn from its sheath reached his ears. He remembered that knife. Kate had run the flat of the blade over his face in the car, the edge along his throat. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him shudder. He hated giving her that satisfaction, but even though he tried desperately to mask his fear, she could smell it.

The ropes around his arms were cut. Sam tensed, waited until they fell loose, then struck out. He launched himself forward, knocking into Kate.

She grunted as he scrambled to his feet. His eyes had adjusted enough for him to see the doorway and the ambient light beyond it, and Sam made a break for it.

He didn't get far.

A feral growl filled the room an instant before he was tackled. The other one: the girl. Sam crashed to the ground, rolled onto his back, and kicked her away. But before he could move again, a hand fisted in his shirt, lifted him off the floor, and tossed him into the cinder block wall. Sam's cry was lost in the gag as his shoulder impacted first, then his head. He sank to the floor, dazed.

"Feisty," Kate said as she took his bound hands and lifted them. "I like that. Spices up the blood." She pulled him until he was sitting upright, then fastened his hands somewhere above his head.

Sam winced as his abused shoulder protested the movement. Chest heaving, he glared at Kate with all the defiance he could muster. He could barely see her, but he knew she could see him.

Kate laughed, soft and amused. She slipped to her knees beside him, the lace of her cami brushing against his arm. Another quiet laugh, then she straddled his legs, sitting on his thighs. "I know you're afraid," she whispered.

Sam shivered, nauseated by her closeness. He felt her hands travel up his chest, ice-cold even through his shirt. Fingernails brushed his neck, and he tensed. But her hands kept moving upward into his hair, where her fingers lingered a moment before dropping to tug the gag from his mouth.

"Why try to hide it?"

"Oh, I don't know." Sam swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in his throat. "Maybe it has something to do with being human. But you wouldn't remember anything about that, would you?" He could see the white of her teeth when she smiled.

"Cute. You're cute. I might actually miss you."

"If you kill me, you'll—"

She slid closer—_way_ too close—and leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear. "Baby, I'm not going to kill you. I'll leave that to your brother."

Anger overrode fear. "It won't work. He's not going to walk in here and—"

"That's exactly what he'll do," she snapped, cutting him off. Then she calmed, smiled again, toying with the collar of his shirt. "I saw how fast he put down that machete when Luthor had you by the throat." Her hands slipped up again, combing through his hair. "He'll come for you."

And Sam knew she was right. But Dean was a hunter. A damn good one. They had planned for this. Well, not _this_, exactly…

Kate nuzzled his neck, sending a ripple of fear up his spine. He tensed.

"Oh, come on…Sam, isn't it? I can make your stay enjoyable—"

"Go to hell. Oh, wait. You're already there." Wow. Dean was rubbing off on him. He smiled wickedly into the darkness.

"Or we could play rough." Her hand fisted in his hair, and then the knife was back.

Sam's breath hitched involuntarily, then stilled as the tip of the blade traced its way down the side of his throat to his collarbone. It made his skin prickle into gooseflesh. The breath stuttered out of him when the knife fell away, but caught in his throat when Kate spoke.

"How about a late-night snack?"

Sam gasped and tried to pull away, but there was nowhere for him to go. His throat was exposed, and he knew Kate could probably _hear_ the blood surging through his veins. Sam closed his eyes, and said a prayer.

The pain came then, but not like he expected. He jerked as the tip of the blade pressed against the exposed underside of his left arm. She dragged the blade down, parting flesh, drawing blood. Sam had trouble filling his lungs again, but a yelp of disgust managed to free itself as Kate covered the wound with her mouth and drank. Her hand was still clenched in his hair or Sam would have headbutted her. He tried to buck her off, but her thighs just tightened against his hips painfully and she bit him. No more than a warning, but it hurt.

Sam stilled except for his heaving chest. He swallowed hard, fighting the nausea as an errant trickle of blood escaped her lips, tracking its way down toward his armpit.

A part of him kept expecting Dean to come bursting into the room, crossbow ready. But how could he? Dean didn't know where he was. He'd be searching; of that, Sam had no doubt. But for now, Sam had to endure.

He heard the clatter of the knife as it hit the floor, and Kate's hand encircled his arm, squeezing. Drawing more blood.

Sam groaned through clenched teeth, uncertain how much more he could take. Already he was feeling lightheaded, and his fogged mind screamed.

_Dean! Oh, God, help me, please!_

**To be continued…**

_a/n:__ I know, I know! Cliffie! Sorry about that. Okay, not really. :) But rest assured, the fic is finished. I won't leave you hanging too long. I just need to format and look it over, then I'm good to go. In the meantime, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading! AJ_


	2. Chapter 2

**Not My Type**

_By AJ Wesley_

**Chapter Two**

Dean closed the motel room door behind him and leaned back against it. Eleven hours. He'd spent eleven freakin' hours in that hospital before he'd found what he needed. He glanced around the empty room, his eyes pausing on the bedside clock. 8:16 p.m. He hadn't slept in nearly thirty hours. Terrific.

He pushed off the door and placed the supplies on the closest bed. The adrenaline rush was fading, leaving him bone weary and susceptible to all the fear he'd buried deep to get the job done.

He hadn't expected it to be so hard. Well, finding someone who fit the bill had been pretty easy. But then he'd had to wait for the old man to die. Dean had cajoled enough information from the duty nurse to know that the man was alone, no one coming to visit. There was no one to contact.

So Dean had become Sean Mullen, Robert Mullen's great nephew. No one had bothered to kick out the young man who sat beside his dying uncle. They'd even brought him breakfast and lunch. Not that he felt like eating.

He'd sat quietly for hours, but the quiet, the fear and anxiety became overwhelming. Dean finally leaned forward in the chair and began to talk. Softly. Not that Bob could hear a word of it, but still. No one should die alone. No one. Their dad had died alone.

Before Bob moved on, Dean had thanked him for his part in saving Sam's life.

His brother had been in the hands of vampires for nearly thirteen hours. The knot in Dean's gut tightened painfully._ I'll call you sometime tomorrow. _ That was still four hours away. Bitch. So he was supposed to just sit around and wait for her to contact him?

Kate wanted him to sweat it out. Make him taste the fear so he would be willing to do anything to get Sam back. And he would…just not the way she planned. He was fairly certain she wouldn't kill Sam, not yet, anyway. But there were worse things than death, and that scared Dean more than anything.

Yeah, this was one of his more…risky plans. Certainly not one that had been on their list. Dean had kept this one to himself. Sam would've looked at him, eyes wide, and asked him if he were insane. But if Dean had to walk into the lion's den without Sam to back him up, a crossbow alone just wouldn't cut it.

The thought twisted his insides until Dean clenched his jaw, fought back the pain, and channeled it like he'd been taught.

_Push it back, Dean_, he heard his father say. _Turn it into something useful_. But that was getting harder and harder. His façade was cracking. One of these days—

Damn it! He was playing right into Kate's hands. Dean felt the anger rise, a new rush of adrenaline surging. He could do this. It would work.

And if Kate thought he was going to sit around wringing his hands until she called, she was wrong. Dead wrong. If there were vampires in this town, there would be signs, no matter how careful they were. Gordon Walker might have been a psycho, but he'd taught Dean a lot about Fangs. Dean knew what to look for and where.

He would be ready when she called.

~oooOOOooo~

Kate stood watching her captive, her tongue sliding over her lower lip. She'd taken too much last night; she knew that. But…damn. She had barely been able to control herself. He had finally passed out with a muffled plea, a whimper that drew her back to awareness. Never in her existence has she tasted blood like his. It was exquisite, and yet…something else…

She couldn't put a name to it, but whatever it was, it had nearly caused her to lose her leverage to a feeding frenzy. She would need to be more careful. She would need to rethink her plans. This one was worth keeping.

Two steps brought her beside him. She sat before him, fingers reaching out to brush the sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes. He jerked at her touch, another whimper escaping around the gag she had replaced. She lifted his bowed head in time to see his eyes flutter open. He bit down hard on the gag and used his legs to try to push away from her. A completely useless attempt, but Kate recognized instinct. He couldn't see her, but he knew who she was. His chest rose and fell in great heaving gasps, and she smiled, enjoying his fear.

"And here I thought you were just another hunter," she said, running a finger down his neck and under the collar of his t-shirt. Her smile widened when her touch elicited a shudder. "What are you, Sam?" She watched his brows draw together in confusion, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I don't think _you_ quite qualify as human, either."

She remained there a moment longer, listening to the harshness of his breaths, the rushing of blood through his veins. But this close, the smell of his blood was intoxicating. Kate stood abruptly, stepping back. If she fed now, it would certainly kill him. And she needed to stay in control.

She turned and left the room.

~oooOOOooo~

Sam swallowed hard, trying to force back the nausea. If he hurled now, he was a goner. But even in the darkness, the room spun.

He felt weak, completely drained of strength, and so cold. He tugged at the ropes holding his arms over his head and winced at the spikes of pain the movement sent through his arm. It was a wonder he could still feel anything; his fingers were already numb. Sam groaned in frustration. Kate wanted Dean, and Sam was nothing more than a pawn to be used to make sure Dean played nice. Oh, and the occasional snack.

Snack. Yeah, right. How much blood had she taken from him to leave him feeling this sick? He remembered Luthor's nest, the cage they had created with chicken wire, the bound captives kept alive only as livestock. Sam shuddered, feeling increasingly colder, both inside and out. He didn't want to think anymore. He wanted to sleep. But he was afraid. What if she came back while he slept?

Wait. She had…hadn't she? It hadn't been a dream.

_What are you, Sam?_

The words echoed in the back of his mind. But… He hadn't had a vision, had he? No. No, he would have remembered that.

_I don't think _you_ quite qualify as human, either._

What…what did that mean, not human? Vampires weren't human, not anymore. Zombies, wendigos, baykoks, they weren't human. But he was. Wasn't he? Just because he had the occasional prophetic dream didn't mean—

A cold dread filled Sam's gut, spreading through him like ice. No. No, this wasn't right. He blinked into the darkness, shaking his head to clear it. He gave the ropes another pull, but there was no strength behind it. Anger rose to replace the fear. He hated being this helpless. He couldn't back Dean up like this.

Dean. His brother would come. Sam knew that for certain. Dean would be prepared. So would Sam.

Okay. So, if strength wasn't an option, what was? Slowly, steadily, Sam began rotating his wrists.

He hoped it would be enough.

~oooOOOooo~

It had taken longer than he'd hoped, but Dean had found all the information he needed.

He stood on the grassy hill, eyeing the rusted ventilator fan that spun slowly in the wind. He could hear the roar of the ocean not a half a mile away, and ignored the sign that told him there was danger here. It had no idea.

This had to be the right place. He'd found clues, signs. Triangulated them. This was the only spot that would serve. It was dark and deserted, this old war bunker that had protected the coast from the threat of German u-boats during World War II.

Kate hadn't called yet, but she would. His phone was in his pocket, set to vibrate, element of surprise and all that. A grim smile touched Dean's lips. Time to get his brother back.

It didn't take much effort to pry the fan loose. In fact, that was the easy part. The hard part was that the shaft was the same size as the fan, about five-by-five foot square. Dean had to hunch over to fit, and remained awkwardly bent in half as he traveled its length. And the farther he went, the darker it became. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk his penlight.

A soft scratching noise reached his ears, and Dean paused, listening. Then he noticed the walls were moving. He pulled the penlight from his pocket and shielded the beam in his fist before turning it on. In the dim light, he could see that it wasn't the walls that were moving, but what was _covering_ them. Thousands of crickets—_thousands_—moved about listlessly, circling, hopping, crawling on top of one another. And they weren't just your run-of-the-mill crickets, either. These were the big freaky-ass things with long legs, the ones that reminded Dean of leaping spiders. And damn, those things could jump. Just his luck, finding their winter hideaway.

"Aww, man," he muttered, attempting to stay dead center of the shaft to avoid disturbing them. It wasn't that he was afraid of bugs, just…well, after Oasis Plains, he could live a happy life if he never saw another one.

Ahead, there seemed to be a shift in the blackness, and Dean knew he was coming to the end of the shaft. He aimed the penlight at the floor and illuminated his path enough to see where it ended. Good thing, too. He peered over the edge at what looked to be about a six-foot drop. Not dangerous in itself, but the debris littering the floor would have cost him, if not in injury then in noise. Taking hold of the penlight with his teeth, Dean carefully maneuvered himself around so he could drop soundlessly to the floor.

The garbage ranged from old newspapers, to bottles and cans, to—hey! An old issue of _Hustler_. Okay, no. He didn't need that in his head. Dean stepped over piles of trash, searching for the next footfall as he moved. He had no idea how many vamps inhabited this nest. Talk about walking in blind. But Sammy was here somewhere, and Dean would walk straight into Hell to get his brother back if needed.

Off to the right, Dean saw the doorway, and the blackness beyond. He made his way over, the crossbow banging against his leg with each step. The machete was sheathed on his other leg, and the steel bolts coated with dead man's blood filled his pockets. He was in a war bunker, ready to go into battle. But this was a war of a different type.

Dean peered around the corner, but there was nothing to see, literally. Damn. He couldn't walk around with the light. He'd be a freakin' neon sign: _Here I am. Come and get it! _Even though he'd burned skunkweed to mask his scent, they'd still be able to see him in the darkness. But they weren't expecting him. Not yet. He would have to stick to the walls and check out each room.

Now…where was he? With a quick breath, Dean aimed the beam of the penlight at the ceiling and found what he was looking for. Two metal tracks hung about a foot from the concrete ceiling and continued down the hall. Dean turned off the penlight. The tracks were what had carried bombs from their storage to the surface. Their presence meant that this was the main hall. Once he had Sammy, it would lead them out.

Dean readied the crossbow and took a step toward the wall. Then paused. He took out the penlight once more and gave the wall a quick scan. No crickets. Tucking the light back in his pocket, he hugged the wall and made his way along the corridor.

The quiet was unnerving, and Dean began to wonder if he was wrong after all. Then the murmur of conversation reached his ears, making his heart pound faster. Could be kids hanging out, but at this hour he doubted it. Dean unlatched the crossbow and followed the sound.

It took him down another corridor, past rooms with no doors. He carefully crept past each entryway, making sure the room was empty before moving on. The voices were getting louder, but still hushed, like whoever was talking didn't want the conversation to carry. When he got close enough, he understood why.

"…_freakin' starving. Why does Tracy get special treatment?"_

"'_Cause she's Kate's favorite. I don't know."_

"_And what's so special about that kid she's got?"_

"_Weren't you listening? He's one of the ones who wiped out Kate's last nest."_

"_Yeah? Then why's he still alive?"_

Dean missed the response as the words played again in his head, confirmation Sam was still alive. Thank God.

He'd only heard two voices. He hoped that meant there were only two of them to deal with. Slowly, quietly, he loaded a bolt into the crossbow, then drew the machete from its sheath. Squaring his shoulders, Dean took a deep breath and plunged into the room.

It only took him an instant to aim before the bolt was released. He took off the other one's head before the vamp even knew what was happening. The first one collapsed to his knees as the dead man's blood took effect.

Dean stepped up to him and clicked his tongue. "Man, you know what happens when you badmouth the boss?"

The vampire glared up at him through glassy eyes.

Dean grinned without humor. "Heads will roll." He swung the blade.

As the body hit the floor, Dean spun, watching the doorway. When no one else appeared, he breathed again. Without looking back, he returned to the main hall, pausing only to load another bolt.

Time to find Sam.

**To Be Continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

a/n: Thank you all for your reviews! I really appreciate it! My play opens this week, so I wanted to make sure I got this posted before I get caught up in tech week. Didn't want to leave you -- or Sam -- hanging too long. :) Hope you enjoy the final installment!

**Not My Type**

_By AJ Wesley_

**Chapter 3**

"What have you been up to?"

Sam startled, opening his eyes. The dim light nearly blinded him. Kate and her teenaged cohort were standing just inside the room, but he hadn't heard them at all, his attention focused on his task. Kate was holding a small lantern that gave off very little light, but it was enough to make him squint after being in total darkness.

The girl stepped closer, her eyes drawn to his bound hands. Sam swallowed past the dryness in his throat. His escape attempt had left his wrists raw and bloodied; talk about dangling the carrot.

"Kate…," the girl said on a breath.

"Go ahead, baby." Kate smiled. "Just remember what I told you."

No. Sam tugged harder at his bonds, fear and adrenaline giving him strength. It would take days to recover from what Kate had taken from him. Another bout would kill him.

The girl kneeled beside him, her fingers tracing up his right arm, sliding into the blood. She brought the stained fingers to her mouth and licked them clean. Sam averted his gaze in time to see Kate drop beside him on his left.

"Tracy," she admonished, "don't play with your food."

Sam turned his head forward so he could see them both. He caught Tracy's smile out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't see her clearly without taking his eyes off Kate. And he wasn't about to—

Teeth sank into his forearm, and Sam gave a muffled cry.

"Oh, come on," Kate said, pulling the gag from his mouth. "You can do better than that. Scream for me, Sam."

Sam didn't trust his voice, so he remained silent, clamping his jaw shut until it felt like his teeth would crack. Damn it, he would _not_ give her the satisfaction.

Kate laughed softly, her fingertips skimming down his arm from his wrist to the cut she had made earlier. "Just one scream, Sam, and we'll stop."

Sam barked a laugh. "Yeah…right." Then his stomach flipped as Tracy moaned in delight, her feeding intensifying. A gasp escaped before he could stop it.

"Not quite what I was looking for." Kate's fingernail pressed into the wound she'd made on his left arm, reopening it.

Sam squirmed, closing his mouth and breathing heavily through his nose. He was getting dizzy again. The room was listing, the lantern throwing strange shadows onto the walls. He closed his eyes against the vertigo.

Cold breath misted past his ear. "I can _make_ you scream," Kate whispered.

Then there was nothing but pain. Sam's back arched as he struggled to get away, his head slamming against the cold concrete. His mouth opened and a strangled noise sounded in his throat, but he wouldn't scream. He wouldn't.

Oh…_God_!

And above the roaring in his ears he thought he heard the one voice he'd been waiting to hear before he spiraled into darkness.

**~oooOOOooo~**

"Hey!"

Dean stood in the doorway and tried not to think of what he would have found had he arrived just a few minutes later. His chest constricted as he watched his brother's head drop forward, blood flowing freely from the wounds in his arms, but he masked the emotion as the vampires spun toward him.

"Oh, now that just hurts. You're having a ménage a trois and you didn't invite me?" He took a step closer. "Oh, wait. That's _three_, right?" He pulled the trigger on the crossbow. The bolt imbedded itself dead center in the younger bloodsucker's chest.

She staggered back and let out a screech before lunging at him, but only made it halfway across the room before she stopped. "Kate?" she whimpered, collapsing to her knees.

"Four's a crowd," Dean added, pulling the machete from its sheath.

"Stop!" Kate demanded. She grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair and yanked his head up. "Kill her and I'll tear out his throat."

Dean smiled and tossed the machete to the floor at her feet, making sure she could see the bloodstains. "It's just you and me."

Her eyes darted to the blade, then back up at him. If she cared at all that her brood was gone, she didn't show it. In fact, she smiled. Her teeth retracted, and she slowly licked Sam's blood from her lips. She loosened her grip and brushed her fingers through Sam's hair almost as if he were a pet. "How did you find me?"

Huh. _Me._ Not _us. _ "It's my job, sweetcheeks. Hunter, remember?"

She grabbed one of Sam's abraded wrists in her hand and squeezed. Sam's body tensed, and he cried out as he was yanked back to consciousness.

Dean took a threatening step forward. "Leave him alone."

"Lose the crossbow," Kate told him with a small shrug.

After a moment's pause, Dean obeyed.

"And the ammo."

He shucked off his jacket and tossed it aside, then held his arms wide. "Satisfied?"

"Dean?" The call was weak, confused.

"I'm here, Sammy."

"Your brother and I have some business to attend to, Sam." Kate leaned in close to him but kept her eyes on Dean. "But we'll be back later to play."

Sam blinked as if trying to understand the meaning of the words. Then it hit him. "No. Dean."

As Kate approached, Dean spared a moment to lock eyes with his brother. Sam swallowed, then nodded. He understood there was a plan, but the knowledge didn't lessen his fear. Dean's gaze flicked back to the vampire.

"I'm impressed," Kate said, stopping before him. "You're better than I thought."

Dean leered at her. "Honey, you haven't seen half of what I can do."

She laughed. "Well, first things first." Her hands slipped up his chest and onto his shoulders.

"Uh-uh. I don't do audiences. Let Sam go."

Kate _tsked_. "Oh, no, baby. He stays until I can trust you. Until you're mine."

"Look, isn't there somewhere we could—" And then he was slammed back against the wall, Kate's mouth covering his. Palms flat against the cement, Dean fought for balance, fought for breath, fought against the churning of his stomach at the taste of blood in her mouth. He could just hear Sam's desperate struggles, his frantic cries, over the roaring in his ears.

_Pull it together, Dean._

Regaining himself, Dean slipped one arm around the tiny waist, drawing her hips against his. His other hand slipped into the pocket of his jeans and drew out the hypodermic he'd snaked from the hospital. One-handed, he flicked off the cap and slid his arm up her side, toward her neck.

Kate's hand shot out, grabbed his arm, and pushed it away from her body. She pulled back from him and cocked her head sideways to see what was in his hand. With a moue of disgust, she squeezed until the syringe dropped from his numb fingers. Then she pulled him forward and slammed him back against the wall. The force dazed him, and Dean nearly sagged, but her inhuman strength kept him upright.

"Well, that wasn't very nice." Her teeth extended. "Now it's my turn."

Dean struggled against her, but it was no use. She grasped the collar of his t-shirt and pulled, ripping it. Before Dean even had a moment to catch his breath, her teeth sank into the flesh above his collarbone.

Dean growled in pain, white light blotting out his vision.

"_Dean_!" Sam cried, horrified.

_I'm sorry, Sammy. Sorry to put you through this. I couldn't—_

He gasped when Kate withdrew, and sagged back against the wall. She held him up with one hand to his chest, and he heard the _snick_ of a knife being drawn from its sheath. Dean blinked, trying to focus.

The haze slowly lifted, and he saw Kate had made a cut across her forearm. She smiled at him as she licked her own blood off her arm, holding it in her mouth as she stepped closer.

_Come on. Come on. _Dean snapped his mouth shut, closed his eyes.

"Don't."

Dean's eyes popped open to see Sam holding the machete to Kate's throat, a determined glare in his eyes. Kate's hand fell away from Dean's chest, and he fought to stay on his feet.

Kate turned slowly, swallowing the blood. The blade slid along her neck as she moved but didn't cut her. She smiled. "Go ahead," she told him, "give it your best shot."

Dean blinked, trying hard to focus. When he finally could, he saw how badly Sam was shaking, how he gripped the machete with both hands, how his glare faltered a little when the vampire called his bluff.

Kate laughed. "You can barely stand." She advanced, slowly backing him up. "Okay, so I'm impressed that you managed to get loose, but did you really think you could take me out?"

Sam seemed to consider that for a moment, then he smiled. "No. But I got you away from my brother, didn't I?"

With a growl of rage, Kate knocked the blade from his hands, then backhanded Sam, sending him sprawling. He managed to roll onto his back, but his strength was waning fast.

"Sam!" Dean took a step forward and found himself cut off from Sam by Kate and the knife she held out in front of her.

"I was going to keep him alive, if only for that exquisite blood of his, but now?" She lunged at Dean, grabbed him, and tossed him into the far wall. "I'll get right back to you, _sweetcheeks_."

Pain lanced across Dean's shoulders and back on impact, and this time he couldn't stop his downward slide to the floor. He saw his brother try to backpedal away, but Sam's boots just scraped across the dirt floor, the last reserves of his strength gone. Sam glared defiantly up at the vampire before glancing over at Dean. _I'm sorry. I tried. _Then his gaze was back to Kate.

No. No, this was not how it was supposed to happen. Damn it! There had to be something—

The syringe was on the floor not two feet away. If he could just…

Kate stopped, a small choking gasp coming from her throat. Her brows drew together in confusion, and her head snapped toward Dean. "What…what did you…?"

Dean froze his reach for the hypo and watched, daring to hope.

Her face contorted in pain as the knife fell from her grasp. She wrapped her arms around her middle and staggered back a few steps, her body convulsing. Blood erupted from her mouth as she retched violently.

With a groan, Dean pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room, scooping up the machete along the way. "Hey, you're not the first girl to tell me I make her sick. Not in so many words, but I can take a hint."

Kate growled at him, pure hatred in her eyes.

"Say good-night, Gracie." Dean lifted the machete.

"No—"

The bunker fell silent.

"Dean…wha—what did you do?" Sam panted.

"I killed a vampire, Sam. You got a problem with that?"

"What? No! I mean, she…how did you…?"

Yeah, Dean knew exactly what he meant. He looked at his brother_,_ and didn't like what he saw. Sam looked wasted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was jaundiced in the light of the lantern. One wrist was raw and bleeding, while the other still held the remnants of the ropes that had bound him. The gag hung around his neck. Dean dropped down beside him. "Tell you later. You okay?"

Sam swallowed and nodded, his eyes sliding closed.

"Hey! It's not naptime, Sam. Not yet. Come on. Let's get out of here." Dean slid a hand under his brother's neck and helped him sit up, bracing him when he wavered. Once he was upright, breathless and shivering, Dean let him rest a moment.

Shivering.

Dean jammed the tip of the machete into the dirt and grabbed his jacket off the ground. "Here." He draped it over Sam's shoulders.

"Thanks."

"Can you stand?"

There was only a moment's pause. "Yeah."

Dean helped him up, ignoring the blaze of fire across his own back as he supported much of Sam's weight. When Sam was finally on his feet, he swayed a little but eventually won his balance. Dean ducked under his left arm and pulled it carefully across his shoulders for support. Sam winced.

"Sorry," Dean offered.

"S'all right."

Dean grabbed the machete without having to duck too much, then headed for the door. After easing Sam out, Dean propped him up against the wall, earning a quizzical look. "I'll be right back," he said, hefting the blade. Sam gave him a quick nod, then tipped his head back against the wall. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed again and again.

Dean took care of business, certain now he'd disposed of the entire nest, small as it was. He grabbed up the crossbow, syringe, and the lantern, and made his way back to Sam.

Finding the way out following the track system was easy; getting there was the hard part. Sam was losing steam fast. His head began to loll, and Dean stumbled under his weight. Kate hadn't taken much of his blood, but he could still feel the fatigue.

"Sammy. Hey. Almost there, buddy. Stay with me, huh?" Dean could feel the steady incline; they had to be close. And…

Dean stopped. It was getting lighter. He could see the curve of the track system up ahead, the upward sweep of the rails. Dean moved quicker this time, his body protesting the extra weight. He heard the quiet urgings that whispered past his lips and wondered if they were meant for Sam or himself.

The corridor seemed endless, but finally they reached the bend. And there it was. The incline was steeper here, but it lead _out_.

"Here we go, Sam. Last leg."

Orange-tinted sky and pink-purple clouds greeted them. Sunrise. Fresh air. Dean hadn't realized how stale the air was down there until he could breathe freely again. He inhaled deeply, finding a final burst of strength to get them out of there. Sam moved with him, apparently just as anxious to leave the place behind.

When they passed the entryway, Dean felt a surge of accomplishment, like a marathon runner crossing the finish line. He wanted nothing more than to collapse and rest, but he kept going up the grassy rise to the crest.

There it was.

The sun warm on his face, Dean gazed out over the Atlantic. "Bet you didn't know you were this close to the ocean, huh, Sammy?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I think…I don't…"

Dean caught him when he fell.

**~oooOOOooo~**

"No!"

Firm hands planted on his shoulders. Sam struggled with what little strength he had left. Dean. He had to help Dean. "Dean!"

"I'm right here, Sam. It's okay. We're safe. Back at the motel, remember?"

Motel? Sam blinked, trying to bring things into focus. He reached out, took hold of the arms gripping his. They were real, solid. And so was… "Dean?"

"The one and only."

A couple more blinks and the fog began to lift. He was in bed under a pile of covers. Bandages adorned his wrists and arms. And Dean… His eyes sought his brother's. "Y'all right?"

Dean huffed a laugh, giving his arms a pat before letting go. "I'm fine. It was just a dream."

"Not all of it," Sam reminded him. Like he needed reminding. "I thought she was gonna tu—"

"Well, she didn't. Thanks to you." Dean cuffed him lightly.

Sam sighed. His strength was fading fast, and he couldn't stop shivering.

Dean was up in an instant, grabbing the mug from the table between their beds. He took it to the microwave atop the small fridge and nuked it for a minute. It took Sam that long to readjust himself and his pillow so he could sit up with support.

"Here." Dean held out the mug.

Sam accepted it, grasping the handle and curling his other hand around its warmth. He could smell it was tea, and he took a cautious sip. It felt good going down. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the heat. Sam rested the mug on his thigh, unable to hold it up for long. "Man, I feel like I haven't slept in week."

"Dude, you don't even want to know how you look."

Sam would have flipped his brother off, but he didn't have the strength. "Thanks," he said instead with all the sarcasm he could muster.

Dean picked up the ripped shirt he had shed earlier and tossed it in the trashcan. "Don't mention it."

Sam fell silent, the simple act of speaking exhausting him. Breathing, even. So he quietly watched his brother. Dean wasn't a "puttering" kind of guy, but that was exactly what he was doing. Maybe he was trying to avoid hovering. Or maybe…

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened to Kate? What did you do?"

Dean stopped and turned toward Sam but didn't meet his eyes. He thought about his answer, then lifted a hand to scratch his head. "I…uh…slipped her a Mickey."

Sam's face screwed up in confusion. "I…I don't…"

Dean sighed. He crossed to his bed, sat on the edge across from Sam, and clasped his hands between his knees.

And Sam knew he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear.

"I, uh…" Dean shrugged. "I injected myself with dead man's blood."

Sam didn't think it was possible for him to pale any more than he already was, but from the look on Dean's face, the way he tensed as if ready launch himself to Sam's side, he must have. "You _what_?"

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"Eventually. My God, Dean, are you insane? If I hadn't gotten loose, she would have turned you! That was a hell of a risk you took. Do you know how gross that is? Do you know how _dangerous_ that is?"

"Do you know how freakin' long I was in the hospital waiting for someone with my blood type to die? I'm not stupid, Sam. I checked the guy out. He was clean."

Sam's next comment died in his throat. Dean looked angry, but it was an anger born of frustration. He wanted Sam to understand. Maybe he even needed him to. And Sam did. Dean had confessed that it scared him sometimes, what he was willing to do to protect his family, and it scared Sam, too. Especially now that they knew the Demon had plans for Sam. Now that Dad was dead. Now that all they had was each other. Sam understood, because there was nothing he wouldn't do for Dean, either.

"O negative," he said softly, picking at the blankets that were doing little to keep him warm.

"Come again?"

Sam looked up, caught his brother's gaze. "You could have used O negative. Universal donor."

And just like that, the tension melted from Dean's body. "_Negative_. Man! I couldn't remember if it was positive or negative."

"Maybe you should have paid more attention in biology class."

"Maybe you should shut up, Mr. Exquisite-Blood."

Something twisted in Sam's gut. His gaze dropped again.

"What is it?" There was concern in Dean's voice, and maybe a little regret.

"Kate…uh…Kate said I wasn't quite human…"

"Sam, she was playing with you, trying to freak you out. The more afraid you are, the bigger the high for them."

"I know…" Sam looked up, caught his brother considering him with pursed lips. "_What_?"

"Exquisite, huh? Must be why the mosquitoes love you."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Great."

Dean leaned back, spread his arms, and grinned. "Hey, I'm the chick magnet, you're the mosquito magnet. Works for me."

Sam laughed softly. "Yeah, well, next time could you find a way to clue me in on your plan? Which I don't recall being on our list, by the way."

"Yeah, about that…"

"Dean, it's okay," Sam said, sparing his brother the apology. Dean didn't need to say it; Sam could see it.

There was a hint of a smile, then Dean slapped his thighs with both hands and stood. "Besides, there isn't going to be a _next_ time. Not if I can help it."

And sometimes, just like when he was little, Sam believed his brother could do anything.

**~oooOOOooo~**

"Yeah. About five minutes…no, mine…okay…thanks." Dean slid the phone closed and stuffed it back into his pocket. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom, and he glanced at the clock. Five forty-two. Sam had been in there for nearly twenty minutes, which meant any minute now…

The water shut off. Dean grinned. Like clockwork, his brother. He sat back on the bed and picked up the remote, flipped through the channels, and waited.

At five forty-five, Sam emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, toweling his hair dry. He was already dressed in his jeans. Since Richardson, Sam didn't lay out his clothes on the bed much anymore.

"What?"

Dean looked up, saw Sam watching him warily. "What what?"

"You've got that look." He tossed the hand towel back into the bathroom. "You're up to something."

Dean huffed, glancing at the clock. Five forty-six. "I'm not doing anything."

"Uh-huh."

"Sammy, come on! Would I kick you when you're down?"

Sam actually seemed to consider that. "No," he conceded, but quickly added, "but I'm not actually down anymore, am I?"

"Bottom of the barrel, dude."

Sam snorted. "Thanks."

"Any time." Five forty-seven. Bingo. "Hey, you hungry?"

A shrug. "Maybe." Sam walked slowly to his bed and lowered himself down with a sigh. Then he flopped backward. "Man, I'm tired of being tired."

Dean's phone rang. Punctuality: gotta love it. He dug the cell from his pocket.

"Hello? Yeah, what's up? Hang on a minute." He crossed to the bed, bumped it with his knee to get Sam's attention, and held out the phone. "Here. Take this. I'm gonna get dinner."

More than a little confused, Sam took the phone, mouthing, _Who is it?_

Dean pretended he hadn't seen the question and turned toward the door, hearing Sam's tentative, "Hello?" He glanced back in time to see his brother sit bolt upright on the bed, his eyes widening at Dean almost in panic.

"Sarah…hey…"

Then, slowly, his body relaxed, his face softening, a tinge of pink touching his cheeks. The first color Dean had seen since they'd returned to the motel.

Sam's gaze dropped, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah. I missed you, too."

With a smile of his own, Dean quietly slipped out of the room.

**Finis**


End file.
